


Doubletake

by omniversal



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 21:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16250225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omniversal/pseuds/omniversal
Summary: Not that his soulmark was even visible anymore. The scars were a little darker where it had been, on his left wrist. If you squinted just right and you knew what you were looking at, you could tell that it had been three words at one point. It wasn’t much of a loss, next to his fucked-up face. He used his face a lot more often.





	Doubletake

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the [Cable & Deadpool Kink Meme Redux](https://iiintangible.dreamwidth.org/458.html?thread=31690#cmt31690).

It was just Wade’s luck to get stuck with the worst soulmark. Sure, very few people got anything super meaningful – your declarations of love at first sight, your tearful recognition of someone’s words – and most people wound up with introductions or polite small talk or incidental little comments.

But Wade’s was on a different level. “Who are you?”

He’d started answering with random bullshit pretty young. Anything distinctive. Anything someone would hear and recognize immediately and just. Doubletake. Stop, and look at him. He wanted that belonging that people talked about. It didn’t have to be some great romance for the ages, but that idea of someone that just fit you…

Vanessa had fit, even if they weren’t soulmates.

But he’d be in the middle of a job, surprising some asshole, and they’d ask, “Who are you?” and he’d say, “Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist,” or some other bullshit, and they wouldn’t respond or they’d piss their pants in fear. He’d kill them, or rough them up, whatever the job was, and go on his way.

It was bad for brand recognition, but he thought he made it work.

Not that his soulmark was even visible anymore. The scars were a little darker where it had been, on his left wrist. If you squinted just right and you knew what you were looking at, you could tell that it had been three words at one point. It wasn’t much of a loss, next to his fucked-up face. He used his face a lot more often.

Vanessa and him had talked about it, once they settled into their relationship. They’d laughed about what they’d do if they ever met their soulmates. They made up stories together. Sometimes they competed to out fucked-up each other with stories of what kind of assholes were made for them. Sometimes it was how they’d fit a new person into their bed, the things they could get up to with an extra person or two. Very rarely, they got serious. They’d stay together. If a soulmate wasn’t wiling to take a package deal, how perfect could they really be?

Wade had stopped looking once he’d had Vanessa. He hadn’t needed it so bad. But the instinct was there not to say Wade Wilson or Deadpool or anything remotely like an answer.

***

Nate never looked for his soulmate to begin with, and he’d never seen his soulmark. He’d been told what it said, when he was old enough that someone had decided he could handle it, but it was on the long list of things the techno-organic virus had taken away. He didn’t miss it; he’d never known it to miss it. It had never been a comfort or a source of wonder or something to be angry about when he never met his soulmate.

A lot of people didn’t meet their soulmate. A lot of people died before they got the chance.

Mother Askani had needed to explain what it meant. Someone’s idea of a joke, she’d suggested. It was just a character from some old comic. Nate didn’t see how it was funny.

It didn’t matter. Nate didn’t expect to meet his soulmate, and he didn’t go looking.

He’d never even thought about his soulmate since he married Aliyah. It didn’t matter. He had Aliyah, and then Hope, and he was happy. They were surviving in a shell of a world. They were making something worth living for, a family, a life. That was worth more than a soulmate.

***

What Wade saw: An asshole with a metal arm coming after a kid. He put himself between them, wrapped a metal pole around the guy’s neck, and the asshole asked him, “Who are you?”

What Nate saw: A dipshit standing between him and a murderer, defending a murderer, who spat back, “I’m Batman.”

Nate registered it, filed it away somewhere in his brain, and got thrown over. Got back up. Kept fighting. Stuck to the mission.

There was no doubletake for Wade to notice. Nate didn’t care.

***

They realized – sometime later.

They’d been fucking for awhile. It wasn’t like either of them had a mark anymore. There was nothing to see to make Wade ask questions or to confirm Nate’s suspicions. 

What happened: Wade was ranting about some crappy romcom and how bullshit it was that everything always worked out so perfectly. How cliché the words always were. And he said, “Do you know what mine said?” and jabbed at the blob on his wrist. “’Who are you?’”

Nate shrugged, kept cleaning his gun, and said, “Mine said, ‘I’m Batman.’” 

There was a moment of silence. Wade did a doubletake.

Wade’s, “Whaaaaaaat?” was loud enough that the downstairs neighbor started beating on the ceiling.


End file.
